Because the three of them were, in their own way, more than a bit fucked up.
That afternoon, as the kids put their lunch dishes in the dishwasher, Hawk glanced at the schedule created by the parental authorities—Caz, JJ, and Kit—and saw no changes had been made since he’d gone to South America.
This was still supposed to be quiet time. Sounded good. The morning had been damned energetic and noisy.
“Regan, pick a book and sack out somewhere.”
“’Kay.” She pulled a book from the shelves and curled up in a blanket pile by the windows. “I want to watch the rain too.”
“Good choice, kid.” He ruffled her hair, heard her snort in the way of all children ever, and saw the tiny happy smile on her face.
She really was a good kid; Caz had gotten lucky.
He headed back to figure out a good spot for Aric. Upstairs in his corner, maybe? No, he’d want to be down with Hawk and Regan.
Hawk dropped pillows, a blanket, and a picture book at one of the tunnel exits. “Here, Aric.”
Standing by the toybox, the boy held up a T-Rex and scowled at Hawk. “I want Regan to play with me.”
“After quiet time, you can ask her.”
Turning red, Aric stomped his foot. “No. Now.”
Fucking-A, look who’d turned into a regular kid. Hawk barely kept from laughing. “Sorry, boy. We got a schedule, and it’s quiet time.”
“No!” That little foot kicked over the box, and then Aric started throwing toys everywhere.
Hawk’s gut clenched, then he relaxed. Regan wasn’t in range. Mako’s place was designed for roughhousing. There was no damage the kid could do.
Breathing out slowly as he watched the tantrum, Hawk found his center to ensure he wouldn’t lose his temper.
But ignoring the behavior wouldn’t do the boy any favors. Hawk knew the harm that could happen from unrestrained anger.
Well, since the kid lived in the sarge’s house, seemed only right that he’d receive the discipline the sarge used to dispense.
Gripping the kid’s collar, Hawk, gently, but firmly guided him outside and across the deck. Rather than being frightened, Aric struggled, still spitting mad.
It was still raining. Off the deck, the splatter of cold drops brought the boy’s fighting to a halt.
“Tough to be you, kid.” Hawk let go and retreated a couple of steps back under the deck roof.
Water streamed over Aric’s face, flattening his blond hair.
“When I got angry and started throwing things”—usually his fists—“the sarge made me run laps till I cooled down. You can do that now.”
“Huh?” Wide blue eyes stared up at Hawk.
“Run to the smokehouse and back. Then ask me—politely—if you’re done.”
Aric didn’t move, and fuck, it felt as if he was kicking a puppy. Dammit, Mako. It’d be easier to kill a few insurgents than deal with this.
Man up, Calhoun. Hawk forced his voice to stay level. “Get started, boy, before you get cold.”
The kid turned and trudged toward the smokehouse. Slowly.
“Hey.”
Aric turned.
Holding his arm up, Hawk pumped his fist up and down in the army hand signal for go faster.
Aric took two stubbornly slow steps, then his nerve broke, and he started to run. He reached the smokehouse and sprinted back. At the foot of the steps, he caught his breath and looked up at Hawk. Water soaked his hair; his clothes were sopping.
Hawk kept the sympathy off his face. “What’s your gut feel like? Still angry that it’s quiet time?”
Aric scowled.
Yeah, not there yet. “Go again.” Hawk motioned to the smokehouse.
It was a long way for a four-year-old, and by the time Aric got back, he was flagging.
Hawk winced. Kit might murder him for this. Then again, she wasn’t a pushover when it came to her son’s behavior.
Hawk looked at Aric, and this time, his question obtained a shake of Aric’s head rather than a scowl.
Aric stayed quiet even as Hawk helped him into dry clothes and brought him back downstairs. It was fucking tempting to just drop the matter and simply hug the boy.
Finish the lesson.
Hawk tossed a stuffed owl onto the pillow pile at the tunnel opening where he’d left the book. Sitting down, he pulled Aric into his lap.
Aric went stiff, then snuggled against him.
The relief was enormous. “You got angry about quiet time, yeah?”
Head down, Aric nodded, his fingers picking at his shirtsleeve.
“We all get angry when we don’t get our way.” Hawk ran his hand down the damp hair. “But throwing things is a bad choice. I guess you saw Obadiah throw shit?”
After a second, Aric nodded, not looking at Hawk.
“You don’t want to be like him.”
Aric shook his head, chin firming up.
“When I was little, I pretended my anger was a smoke monster that I had to blow away.” Doc Grayson came up with the weirdest shit. But it’d worked.
The big blue gaze turned up to Hawk. “Smoke monster?”
“Yeah. If my gut got pissed-off”—Hawk patted Aric’s stomach—“it’d make a smoke monster.” He’d get so furious, he’d go berserk.
“It’s hard to think with a smoke monster in your face.” When Hawk waved his hand in the air, Aric’s eyes widened as if he could see the imaginary smoke.
“Blow real hard. Make it go away.”
Aric puffed. Over and over.
“That’s it.” Hawk nodded. “When the monster’s gone, it’s easier to figure out what to do.”
Aric’s brows drew together as he considered.
Smart kid. Could make a guy proud.
“We’ll work on it,” Hawk murmured. Unable to resist, he gave Aric a squeeze. “Good job running. You’re damned fast.”
The kid’s eyes brightened.
At the tug in the center of Hawk’s chest, he cleared his throat. “Bunk down or read the book.”
After crawling in and curling up in the pillow nest, Aric gave the stuffed toy a dubious look.
“Owls sleep during the day. He’s your nap buddy.”
As if that made perfect sense, Aric wrapped his arms around the owl and was asleep within a minute.
Picking up his own book, Hawk settled down on the sectional…and was too shook up to read. How did parents survive this shit for eighteen years?
And how fucking pitiful was it that he’d give anything to be one of those parents? To raise that boy over there.
Sadness swept through Hawk. He’d never be a father; he knew better.
Chapter Twenty-Three
When trouble comes, it’s your family that supports you. ~ Guy Lafleur
On Saturday, Hawk walked out to his deck to enjoy the sun. Maybe he’d take the canoe out on the lake. Kit and Aric might enjoy that.
He caught sight of Gryff making his rounds of the courtyard, sniffing near the electric fence. Probably some predator had been lured too close by the scent of the chickens and gotten zapped.
Next door, Caz stepped outside. “Nice day, ’mano.”
Hawk nodded, pleased that this brother, at least, wouldn’t interrogate him about being with Kit and Aric in the evenings. Without a doubt, his brothers had noticed.